


bloodsport

by kermiethefrog



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Dark, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 11:32:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18738169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kermiethefrog/pseuds/kermiethefrog
Summary: Jared’s been with Jensen for seven months and thirteen days.





	bloodsport

**Author's Note:**

> written for spn spring fling as a gift for [smalltrolven](https://smalltrolven.livejournal.com/) at lj. proceed with caution—things aren't as they seem.

Jared’s been with Jensen for seven months and thirteen days. Luck numbers in opposition—Jared wonders if that means they cancel each other out. A glimmer of light shines through the kitchen window and catches his eye; he turns away from the oven to peer through the window at the classic car that rolls down the street. 

 

Cherry red Thunderbird. Jared doesn’t know much about cars, but Jensen’s obsessed enough that some of it bleeds over. Jared doesn’t care for the modern models, but the vintage cars always draw his attention. It pulls into the driveway across the street; Jared listens to the rumble of its engine with a slow blink. An older man steps out from the driver’s side, fingers washing through salt-and-pepper beard, and their eyes meet briefly. Jared raises a hand to wave but the man turns away before he returns it, and Jared is left to curl his fingers into his palm silently.

 

Something burns, a sharp sensation across his fingertips, and it’s only when he looks back that he realizes he’s reached into the oven with a mitt-less hand. He jerks back his hand and the pan clatters onto the ground; meatloaf splatters over the tops of his bare feet and he cries out, pain sparking through the burn wounds.

 

Quick douse of water and a shitty bandage job is all Jared can manage with his shaking hands. He doesn’t like lingering in the tub, but having the cool porcelain against the curve of his back helps to focus his attention on the staccato rhythm of his breathing; he doesn’t like the way his fingers feel against the rubber seal where the tub meets the tiled wall, but knowing that the shampoo set lined neatly on the rim is Jensen’s helps ease away the always-present panic. When he muffles his ears with his hands, he can almost hear Jensen telling him everything is going to be okay in soft, faraway tones.

 

Jared thinks he’s been with Jensen for seven months and thirteen days, but sometimes it’s hard for him to keep track of his own thoughts, let alone the date. 

 

—————

 

He’s on his hands and knees when Jensen gets home.

 

“What happened?” Jensen asks from behind him. Jared closes his eyes and tries to decipher what Jensen’s mood is, but it’s difficult to do even when he can see Jensen’s face. His tone leaves nothing as a clue—cool, even-tempered, lightly curious. Jared struggles for words. “Jared?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jared croaks out. The clock dings out the seven o’clock bell and Jared flinches away from it; seven o’clock and dinner isn’t ready. “I’m sorry, I just—I wasn’t—”

 

There’s meatloaf grease on his jeans but at least most of it’s not on the floor anymore. 

 

Jensen steps closer, and Jared turns, head bowed and eyes shut tight. Jensen makes a soft noise above him—another thing Jared can’t understand—and kneels down in front of him. Jared flinches when hands touch his arms, but it’s a gentle touch, so he can’t help but open his eyes.

 

Jensen’s eyebrows are sloped downwards in concern, eyes focused on the bandages covering Jared’s left hand. “Jay,” he starts, and Jared feels tears tightening in the center of his chest, “what happened?”

 

“I dropped the meatloaf,” Jared finally says. His voice comes out like a rasp, wet and reedy. “I burned myself.”

 

“C’mere, honey,” Jensen says softly, helping Jared to his feet. Jared sways on them when he stands, shoulders curled in, back bowed. Jensen keeps a steady arm across his lower back and guides him quietly out of the kitchen and further into the house. There’s a soft ebb of fear that lights up in Jared’s stomach when they pass his bathroom, but it melts away when Jensen steers them to their bedroom instead. 

 

“You’re not mad?” Jared asks, twisting his head to look at Jensen. 

 

Jensen gives him a quizzical look paired with a soft smile. “Why would I be mad?”

 

Jared breathes easier. He nods to himself—why <i> _ would</i> _ Jensen be mad? He leans into the other man and gets a warm hand running down his back; the aches and pains of the events of day come flooding in, and Jared winces when Jensen guides him to sit on the edge of the bed.

 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Jensen soothes. He kneels in front of Jared and starts on the bad bandage job around Jared’s left hand; when he inspects the burned-red shine, he bows his head to kiss the meat of Jared’s palm. “Clumsy. Let me grab the first aid kit.”

 

Jensen is efficient and gentle as he cleans the wounds, giving Jared sympathetic looks as he applies stinging cream to his hand and feet. Whatever tears Jared squeezes out from pain, Jensen is careful to wipe away; when it’s all over, Jared lets out a quiet, exhausted sigh, closing his eyes and letting Jensen pet his hair as the anxiety untangles itself from his spine. 

 

“You don’t usually get distracted like this, Jay,” Jensen says. Jared hums, feeling the bed dip beside him, and leans to rest his head against Jensen’s shoulder. “What happened?”

 

Jared shrugs. He’s so tired that he doesn’t want to think about the day anymore—all he wants to do is fall asleep, but that would mean neither of them get dinner. He tries to sit up, but the moment he shifts Jensen’s hand comes down on the back of his neck. It’s not a tight grasp, but it feels like an anchor, and tension sweeps through Jared’s spine.

 

“I just looked away for—for a second, and I—”

 

“Why’d you look away, Jared?” 

 

Jared bites his tongue. This is a mistake; this is a trap. He knows it is. He doesn’t know what the right answer here is, but he rarely ever does.

 

Jared clears his throat and tries. “I don’t want to leave, Jen, I promise—”

 

“Why did you look away, Jared?” Jensen’s voice is so calm, tremorless and so easy that Jared wonders if he hasn’t taken every ounce of fear in Jensen’s body for himself.

 

“I saw a, a car,” Jared chokes out.

 

“A car?”

 

Jared nods. “A red T-Bird.”

 

“Ah,” Jensen hums, nodding in return, “Jeff’s car.”

 

Jared nods again, more insistent. One of the fingers on the back of his neck tap out a steady rhythm; he can’t help but flinch whenever it makes contact. 

 

“That’s it?” Jensen asks.

 

Jared hesitates, eyes drifting away. He can’t remember, but he thinks so. He nods slowly; the tapping against his skin feels like a drumbeat.

 

“You just saw the car and that’s why you weren’t paying attention?”

 

Jared nods once more.

 

“I talked to Jeff when I got home. He asked me about you,” Jensen says lightly. Jared feels at odds with the even tap of Jensen’s finger and his own jumping pulse in his throat. “Said you waved to him. You getting friendly with our neighbors, Jay?”

 

“I didn’t—that was it, I didn’t do anything else,” Jared tries to explain.

 

“You always this friendly with men, Jay?”

 

It’s equal parts frustration and panic that fill out Jared’s chest. “No, Jensen, I—”

 

“Why do you think it’s okay to lie to me when I’m giving you every opportunity to be honest, then? Does that sound like someone who has nothing to hide?”

 

Jared takes in hitching breaths, head beginning to swim. He shakes his head. “I forgot—I forgot about the wave. It didn’t mean anything—I didn’t mean anything by it, so I forgot. I forgot because I don’t care about anyone else, just you—I don’t want anyone else but you, I want to stay here, I want to be with you.”

 

There’s a long pause, and Jared mouth opens and closes, throat refusing to let out noise. 

 

Then, after a long stretch, after Jared’s fingers lose all feeling from how hard he presses them into his thighs: “I know, Jay.”

 

Jared searches his eyes to see if he’s telling the truth, but Jensen looks open and honest. “I know you don’t want anyone else, baby. I know you’re not gonna leave. But you can understand why I get nervous, can’t you?”

 

Jared’s palms sweat. He doesn’t know if he should nod or shake his head, so he remains silent and still. Jensen’s hand releases from the back of his neck to touch his cheek. “You’re still adjusting to this relationship. I understand, Jay. I’m not mad at you for waving at Jeff, I promise.”

 

Jared nods then, relieved. 

 

“But—” and Jared’s heart drops again, “—you did lie, and I know that you know I don’t appreciate it when you lie to me.”

 

When Jensen stands, Jared knows he’s in trouble; that doesn’t stop him from being unprepared for Jensen’s strong hands grabbing the back of his shirt and throwing him off the bed.

 

“I know you still don’t understand how perfect we could be, Jared,” Jensen hushes. Jared takes in deep, heaving breaths, fingers tightening in Jensen’s shirt when Jensen leans over him. He knows what’s coming— _ he didn’t mean it, he doesn’t want to leave, he’s scared _ —”I know that you still want to misbehave to make it seem like we shouldn’t be together.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jared tries, begging. His fingertips burn where they dig in, but it’s a secondary pain to the fear mounting in his chest as Jensen grabs his biceps tight and starts dragging him out into the hallway. “I’m sorry, Jensen, I’m so sorry, please, I don’t—” He lets out a choked back sob, scream biting past his throat as his scrambling feet give way underneath him and he is yanked down the hallway. “I don’t—I don’t—I love you, I promise, I love you! I love you, Jen, please, please don’t—”

 

“I’m willing to be patient and put in the time, Jared. You can’t say a lot of people are willing to do that for the person they love,” Jensen says firmly. The nearer they get to Jared’s bathroom, the more panic begins to flood his body. He twists in Jensen’s arms and manages to push onto his knees; he dashes forward in a crawl several feet before a grip tightens around his ankle and yanks him back. When he slips, he smashes his head against the floor, and Jensen’s hand curls around his cheek before his vision has a chance to clear. “See, Jay? This is what happens if you don’t listen to me. Are you gonna keep fighting me or do I need to revert back to giving you smoothies?”

 

Jared goes still in Jensen’s hands; his body wants to struggle, but the smoothies take out chunks of time, leave him disoriented and sick and feeling like nothing, like he doesn’t exist. He hates it, worse than the bathroom, even worse than when he was first brought to Jensen’s house and he was bedbound.

 

“Good boy,” Jensen says, thumb wiping away warm blood pooling above Jared’s upper lip.

 

“Please, Jen,” Jared whispers, and Jensen kisses his forehead before dragging him onto his feet.

 

It’s always the first few hours of being in the bathroom that’s the worst. Devoid of light, sitting in a half-foot of cold water, the faucet drip-drip-dripping with no way for him to tune it out. The pipes whine and the boards over the window creak and no other sound exists except for his own thoughts. Always those hours—that’s the punishment.

 

The reward for being good in the bathroom is getting to hear Jensen’s voice filter through the nearly soundproofed doorway.

 

Jared thinks it’s been seven months and thirteen days since he was taken from his home, but there are so many days that he’s lost to the cool porcelain and the darkness and Jensen’s soft, faraway voice telling him everything’s going to be okay.


End file.
